


Do You Think About It?

by stillblooming



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Missing, POV Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Villanelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28455975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillblooming/pseuds/stillblooming
Summary: “Do you want me to pretend I am her?”—A one shot after 2x08. Missing Eve hours.Villanelle is spending an evening with her fiancé when she gets an unusual question.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	Do You Think About It?

“Do you want me to pretend I am her?”  
“Huh?” Villanelle says, taken aback from her mindless kisses on the woman’s collarbone.  
Her fiancé looks up from loosening Villanelle’s belt buckle—eyes sparkling with a simple curiosity that felt far too plain given the weight of the question.  
“What are you talking about?”  
She can’t help that her mind goes to Eve, that even after 4 months, the thought of Eve quarrels against her ordinary thinking. Rome. Eve. The gun. All playing out like a failed promised dream.  
_You don’t know what that is._  
“Your ex. You don’t talk about her, but I know she still affects you. You always feel like you’re somewhere else.”  
Villanelle fidgets.  
The woman kisses her jaw, and she fights the impulse to turn away.  
“I know you are mine now. And we all deal with exes at one point or another.”  
_You’re mine._  
“So...I can be her for a while if you need me to be. It helps.”  
The woman straddles her lap, and Villanelle lets her—a shiver dances up her spine at this thought.  
She’s been with women in the past where she pretended they were Eve. Many women. But she hadn’t thought of Eve in any way sexually since they’re night together in Rome, as Villanelle touched herself, documenting her movements through their earpieces.  
It doesn’t feel right, but also, the idea of Eve sprawled out on this mattress with the same see through robe and nude lipstick begins to turn her on.  
An image of Eve collapsing on concrete barrels through her mind.  
_You don’t know what that is._  
No.  
No, she’s not going to entertain this.  
“No, I hate her. I do not hate you,” Villanelle snaps.  
She tries to motion the woman off her lap, to get some space, but her fiancé stays firm and keeps her legs tight around her hips.  
“You don’t hate her.”  
“I do.”  
“You don’t.”  
“For a fiancé, you like talking about other women…”  
“Why do you hate me?” Her fiancé’s voice rises, in an attempt to mimic a woman she’s never met, her Spanish accent still prominent through the influx of her tone. It’s stupid and ridiculous, but Villanelle knows deep down she wants to play along.  
“Because you are a pain in my arse.”  
“What did I do?”  
“You didn’t listen to me.”  
_I love you. I do._  
“I can listen to you now.”  
“Eve wouldn’t say that.”  
The woman blinks, yet Villanelle swipes a few loose hairs from curving onto the woman’s lips, remembering.  
“She’d say I was an asshole or a dick…that’s why she didn’t listen.”  
A chuckles spills from her mouth, and an image of Eve holding back a smile makes her heart do a tiny flip.  
Villanelle sighs, noticing the tension subsiding.  
“You dick,” the woman shoots out.  
Her hands roam down the front of Villanelle’s suit, and she unplucks the checkered buttons.  
Eve. She could be Eve.  
“I do not like you,” Villanelle says, handing digging into the woman’s mane.  
“Mmhm,” her fiancé mumbles, kissing at her neck, her chest, and solar plexus. Villanelle’s eyes flutter close, as Eve’s hands meet the warmth between her thighs, trailing until her fingers reach Villanelle’s entrance. She teases there for a moment, and the small movements pull a shaky moan from Villanelle’s mouth. It’s perfect and she won’t open her eyes, when Eve is pleasing in the most incredible way, a way that she hasn’t felt in months.  
“Eve,” she pants, as her climax flows through her.  
A quick visual of the sun slicing light onto Eve’s face—her anger sharp and confusing, replaces her haze of pleasure.  
She fidgets over the puffy bed sheets and feels her fiancé surface between her legs.  
“How was that?”  
She won’t open her eyes, refuses to let a stupid tear escape.  
“Villanelle.”  
_You don’t know what that is._  
“Are you alright?”  
_Do you think about it?_  
Her fiancé reaches to cup her cheek, but she jerks her head backward.  
“I am fine.”  
She speaks it into the air, the universe, the blank space between them.  
Villanelle jumps from the mattress and escapes into the bathroom—her fiancé concerns phasing into static into—  
_All the time._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :) Happy New Year!


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